Mortimer

"Humph!"

Mortimer snorted into his cup of coffee.  "Ought to be ashamed of herself, that woman.  No self respect.  And worse, no sense of fashion!"  He adjusted his own velvet waistcoat smugly. "People like her are the reason I left the home in the first place.  Thirty years I've been gone and haven't missed it a single day."  He took a drink of his coffee and retched.  "Paugh!  Disgusting stuff!  It's been simply ages since I last tasted a proper brew."  He set the paper cup down on the floor and settled back into his armchair. 

Mortimer filled the armchair quite well, padded from years of fine dining.  He had a round, pink face on top of a round, pink body.  A shiny bald spot crowned his head, surrounded by a fringe of dark hair that refused to completely give in to the passage of time.  Bright blue eyes shone out from above a tiny nose and an impressive handlebar mustache.  He stroked it automatically as he looked from person to person, his eyes betraying nothing. 

"Well, I suppose I might as well play along," he said, with the air of a man bestowing a lavish gift on an unworthy recipient.  "My name is Frederick Mortimer the second.  I was born in Los Angeles California in 1956, I spent 25 miserable years there and left without a second thought as soon as I got my teaching certificate.  I moved to Seattle and eventually became a tenured professor at the University of Washington.  I now spend my days shepherding young idiots along the path to knowledge and my night with a good cup of coffee and a good book.  I enjoy art, the cinema, and enlightening companionship."  From the way his eyebrows raised as he spoke, it was doubtful that any of the people in front of him fit this category. Linking his fingers together on his wide stomach, he leaned deeper into his armchair.

"Well, that's all there is to tell.  Wake me when someone brew a decent pot of coffee."

The End

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